Padding naked past the sec man, a blonde looked at the giant with no more interest than if he were a chair, her full breasts swinging to the gentle motion of her young body. Hawk understood why their tongues had been removed, but considered it a waste. However, they could still be bent over a bench. Didn’t need a tongue for that.
“Chill them now, tonight,” Hawk countered, rubbing the scars along his neck with a palm.
Taking the stopper from a crystal bottle, Gaza poured a goblet full of sparkling clean water, spilling some onto the floor in the process.
“All right,” the baron said after taking a sip. “Send troops to the motel and ace the outlanders in their beds. Then blame Sparrow and drag him through the courtyard to the temple. He has been stealing from me long enough.”
“Nobody is above the law,” Hawk agreed, rubbing his tattoo as he watched the women splash about in the soapy pool. Already the currents were flushing the suds away, leaving the water clear.
Noticing the direction of his gaze, Baron Gaza fixed the man with a hard look. “Remember that, old friend,” he growled. “What scorpions can’t ace, the Scorpion God can.”
IN THE LOBBY of the motel, the companions stood transfixed, their minds trying to absorb the implications of the incredible news.
“The Trader and Abe are alive,” Ryan repeated softly.
“Mebbe,” Krysty countered, then nodded at the two fat men. “We should continue this in private.”
“Please,” Sparrow begged, misunderstanding her statement and dropping to his knees. “Don’t chill us!”
“Upstairs stupe,” Ryan ordered, gesturing with the SIG-Sauer. “Jak, get the dogs.”
The teenager nodded and started urging the hounds into the office with a soft whistle. The beasts followed him into the room and he closed the door with a sharp bang.
“My dogs,” Sparrow cried. “Not my dogs!”
“Shut up and move,” J.B. ordered, poking the man with the Uzi.
As they marched the fat men up the stairs, Jed tried to make a break and Ryan clubbed him to the floor with the barrel of his blaster. Trembling in fear, Sparrow did nothing, unable to speak. Going to the end of the corridor, Ryan shoved open a door to find a corner room containing only the barest essentials, a mattress on the floor, empty water pitcher and a night soil bucket.
Putting the men back to back on the dirty mattress, Ryan and J.B. kept them covered while Mildred cut some rope from the blinds and Doc expertly tied their feet at the ankles, and then each man’s hand to the other’s arm in a crisscross pattern. The brothers grumbled and complained, but didn’t resist.
Coming out of the dark bathroom, Krysty ripped a paper thin towel into strips and stuffed a wad of cloth into their mouths before gagging them tightly.
“Good job,” Mildred said in approval. “They’re not getting out of that.”
Leaving the room, J.B. used his tools on the door and tricked the lock into engaging with a solid click. “That’ll hold them for a while,” he said, tucking the picks into his munitions bag.
Returning downstairs, the companions found Jak at the front counter, stropping a knife on a whetstone.
“Oh, no, did you kill the dogs?” Mildred asked.
“Nah,” Jak drawled, sheathing the blade. “Locked in office.”
“Good enough,” Ryan said, holstering his piece, then rubbing his face. Fireblast, he was tired. But the sleep that had been so tantalizingly close was now faraway. “So, what do you think?” he asked aloud.
“Beats me,” J.B. said bluntly, leaning against the sandbags and crossing his arms. “But it sort of makes sense. Where else could they get the ammo if not from a trader? There’s certainly no ruins around here to scavenge.”
“Might be just somebody using the name,” Mildred suggested. “As advertising. You can trust me, I’m Trader, sort of thing.”
“Never thought that,” Jak growled. “Twisted.”
The physician smiled. “No, my friend, you’re just an honest man.”
“Get lot enemies that,” Jak added. “But make lot deals, too.”
“However, there’s a chance that it might actually be Trader,” Ryan said slowly.
“Then again, it might just be some mercie who could have the Trader a prisoner,” J.B. said, removing his glasses to clean them on a sleeve. “Forcing tech secrets about the wags and blasters to build an empire. Or his son, or a clone, or…”